“It’s been a long day. I should really get some rest.”
“Oh, yes. Good idea.” My mother ascends from her chair. Her manners getting the better of her as I excuse myself.
I need to get out of here.
Moira has already unpacked all of the clothes I brought back with me. Damn, that woman works quickly. I yank a little black dress off of its hanger, dig out a pair of stilettos that make my ass look amazing, and heap on the makeup. My hair is wavy, not the normal, tight-hand curls that I preferred, but there isn’t time for all of that song and dance. I need to relax. I need to forget. Being home was worse than I thought. Much worse.
I scroll through my phone to find a club. I don’t care about ratings. I don’t care what part of town it is in. I need one close enough that is open late on a Sunday night.
Picking one, I request an Uber.
Here goes nothing.
I toss the heels, clutch, and dress down into the bush under the balcony of my suite. Some tricks never go away. Shimmying down the trellis, I successfully land like I have done countless times…just like Xander taught me when we were kids.
Dammit!
Xander.
I don’t want to think about him, even if he did leave me with one skill that was useful.
He still left me.
It doesn’t take long to get to the club. The thumping bass breaks into my chest even before I am out of the backseat of the Uber’s Camry.
“Have a nice night, miss.” the driver tosses over his shoulder as we pull up to the curb.
“Thanks,” I mutter, exiting the car quickly.
I laugh at the line. Amateurs. Pulling out my British fake ID and a large bill from my clutch, I waggle my hips up to the bouncer.
“Evening,” I coo with my chest popping out in his face. Thank God for pushup bras and makeup. I know I don’t look twenty-two, for the most part. It is all about the confidence you ooze. I don’t even bat an eyelash as he takes out his flashlight and eyeballs my ID. It’s flawless. The best that Mommy and Daddy’s money could buy. If they only knew what I really spent my exorbitant allowance on while I was away.
I put the Benjamin in the bouncer’s hand as he returns my ID. Lifting the red velvet rope for me, he nods toward the front doors.
I’m in.
I beeline through the throngs of wasted patrons, shoving my way to the crowded bar. Three male bartenders rush toward me. Shoving each other a little to try to get my drink order. The tallest and more interactive of them wins by a mile.
“What’re ya having?” he shouts over the booming eletronica.
“Vodka, soda, lime,” I retort while twirling a long strand between my fingers.
Within seconds my drink was in my hand and down my throat. It is going to take a few of those to even begin to work.
My second beverage is delivered without question. I scoop it up and turn toward the hoard of dancers grinding on one another. It was a primal mating dance. Women groping men. Men laying on thick moves trying to get lucky. It isn’t lost on me. I spent many nights just like this one alone in pubs in London. I was good at sneaking out, to say the least.
I sway to the music, sipping this drink. The proper-etiquette Hawthorne in me winning just a little as my lips wrap around the rim of the cool glass. Chugging wasn’t ladylike. Even though I really didn’t care about what any of these heathens thought of me.
“How’re you doin’?” was slurred in my direction countless times, but I ignored the advances. I had one mission for the evening.
With four drinks soaking my bloodstream, I finally start to feel normal. Happy. I dance, letting my mind go blank.
It’s easy enough to ignore the prying eyes and subtle gropes as men pass by. I don’t give a shit about them. I’m here for me. I’m here to forget. I’m here to just be numb for a little while longer. Ridgeview Prep starts tomorrow, and I need a booze-filled distraction from the asshattery of seeing my old friends and dealing with all of that bullshit.
In the middle of the packed club with thumping bass pounding against my temples, I work my way through the crowded dance floor, ready for the noise to consume my thoughts and bring me some freaking peace.
Chapter 4
Xander
Pulse-pounding beats roar as I step into the darkened night club. I say a silent “fuck you” to Jase as the bouncers let me through. The mile-long line behind me is full of guys and girls who are older than me, but none of them have the balls to walk straight up to the front, slip one of the massive dudes a hundred-dollar bill, and stare them down until they nod and clear a path into the place. The bouncers don’t even give me a second look as I push past them like I own this club. They can sense power and control.
Pretty damn ironic that I really have neither of those things in real life. I’ve learned how to put on a good show, though.
My jaw is tight as I scan the space, looking for the one person I know can help me and give me what I need to find…Moretti. A group of girls in tight black dresses slows in my direct path, licking their lips and drinking in every inch of my muscular, six-foot-two body.
I let the corners of my lips curl upward, but say nothing because nothing about this is social.
It’s business.
Business that may get my ass skewered if I lose my focus.
One of the girls trails a long red fingernail down my arm. “Have a drink with us?” she says in a low, seductive voice.
“Maybe later.” I flash a smirk. “If you’re lucky.”
The girls exchange a smile, and the one with the nails giggles before pressing her tits against me as she walks past. For some reason, my brand of prick doesn’t ever get an eye roll or an obscene hand gesture in response. And they always come back for more, not that I bother to give it.
One and done. It’s all I’m willing to give.
Only one person could have had all of me, but that was a long time ago.
When I was a different person who had hopes and dreams.
But she did a damn good job of shattering those, releasing the beast inside.
I walk deeper into the lounge area, scouting the faces until my eyes land on my target.
Lorenzo DiScala.
He’s a little older than me, maybe twenty-two, but he’s king of his own little castle.
Lucky bastard.
At least he has a castle.
I have a fucking fort, riding out my title of court jester. It’s how everyone sees me, no matter what my father says. I’m the punk kid brother, the one who can slice through the most unsuspecting victims with a box cutter but can’t command his own crew. Correction: isn’t allowed to command his own crew.
Case in point, the reason why I’m here in this club by myself. You don’t just walk around unprotected in these parts without anyone having your back. Guys with death wishes do that shit, not guys who are smart enough to know the risks.
I grit my teeth as I push through the crowds of sweaty bodies writhing against each other. They don’t care that the dance floor is ten feet away. They’re probably too doped up on their drug of choice...drugs my family has supplied the owner.
Fuck me, why can’t I be a normal eighteen-year-old kid who doesn’t have to think about this crap? My life hasn’t been normal since I turned sixteen and got sucked into this downward spiral. I wish I’d never seen a damn box cutter, much less made it my weapon of choice.
But that’s not my reality.
My reality is trying to figure out why my family’s mortal enemy, Rico Moretti, has shown up on our radar selling gun parts when we’re supposed to be the only game in town. That’s how territories work. You run one, you handle all sales and distribution of whatever your buyers want.
Tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, and I rub the stress knot at the base of my skull.
I hate my life.
I hate my fucking brother for dragging me into this shit, and also my father for letting me fester in it.
I should be thinking abo
ut tomorrow, the first day of senior year at Ridgeview Prep. The one place where I fucking rule, where nobody dares challenge me, where I can have whatever I want, whenever I want it.
They all fear me, and they goddamn well should.
To them, I have everything.
In reality, I have nothing, which is why I’m spending the last night of my summer break trying to track the dealings of a mafia thug so I can ambush his ass and then skewer it to save our own.
One thought about tomorrow does cross my mind, though.
I hope I get to see it…
I slide into the leather booth that Lorenzo likes to use for people-watching. He turns his head away from the half-naked girls grinding together on the dance floor and acknowledges me with a quick nod. “X.”
“Renzi.” I lean back against the cool leather as he pours a shot of something clear into a glass and slides it over to me. I pick it up and shoot it. The liquid scorches a path down my throat and I slam the glass down.
“You look like you needed that,” he says with a knowing wink.
“You know it,” I grunt back.
“Why the hell are you here, X? Don’t you have school tomorrow? ”
I narrow my eyes at him. “This is a little bit more important.”
“Details?”
“Look, you know what’s coming. Moretti is moving in. I need to know where.”
Lorenzo leans forward. “If I knew, I’d tell you. But those fuckers know I’ve worked with your Pops. They aren’t about to trust me with any of their shit.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “It’s bad news, Renzi. Once they took out Massimo…” I shake my head. “You know my dad is next unless we stop them. I need to know who his buyers are so I can get to him.”
“X, I don’t know. You know I like to lay low and do my thing here. Pussy is my business, not guns.”
“If they really want to take over this territory, to cripple us, they’re gonna come to you, too. They’re not gonna stop with the guns. They’ll bring in drugs, women, booze...whatever they can to ice out the Iazetti family. And when we’re weakest...that’s when they’ll hit.”
“I’ll keep an ear to the ground for you, X. That’s about all I can do. Don’t ask me to stick my neck out any further, though. I’m not gonna risk it getting chopped off. By anybody.” He holds up the bottle. “Another?”
I shake my head and slide out of the booth. “Nah. I got school tomorrow.”
He nods again. “Good. Now get your underage ass outta here. I don’t need any cops breathing down my neck about what goes on in here.”
I turn away from the booth. My temples throb in time with the beat of the pounding electronica, and the shot didn’t help one bit. I eye the exit on the other side of the dance floor and the drunks climbing all over each other. With a deep breath, I push through, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone who might recognize me.
I don’t need a tail, especially on a night when I’m in a shit area by myself.
Groping hands yank at my arms and graze my ass as I wind through the crowd. I keep my head down, eyes lowered. Fuck me for forgetting a baseball cap. An arm snakes around my waist just as I’m about to step onto the carpet and out of the sauna of bodies. I catch a glimpse of the hungry and pretty heavily made-up gaze of a curvy brunette and shrug away from her, my shoulder knocking into something hard. An icy cold sensation drizzles down my arm, soaking the fabric of my shirt.
“What the fu–?”
I twist around and my breath hitches. I blink fast, my eyes adjusting to the streaks of bright color illuminating the dance floor.
Because it has to be the crazy bright strobe lights that make this vision appear in front of me.
Long, blonde waves flow over the bare shoulders of a woman about my height, thanks to the fuck-me heels she’s wearing. Her dark-lined eyes are a clear blue, icy and stormy at the same time, popping against her bronze skin. Bright red lips and a tight black dress that barely covers her tits and ass cheeks complete the picture of sex and seduction that she’s selling.
Hell, yeah, I’m buying.
But once my vision clears, the sex kitten transforms into something...someone...else. I no longer see glowing skin, lush tits, and please let me suck your cock red lips.
I see the long blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, the eyes shining bright and glittering with innocence and youth, the full pink lips glossy and smiling wide...the way they always did when she looked at me.
I swallow hard.
It can’t be…
Right?
It’s been forever.
She left.
Never to return.
I open my mouth to ask the question on my lips, but I can’t form the words. My brain craps out, and before I can spit out her name along with all of the other toxic thoughts that have polluted my mind since that night a year and a half ago, she narrows her eyes to slits. They pin me to the spot, daring me to speak.
I don’t.
I can’t.
Because this woman...she can’t possibly be that girl.
Her glare frosts my insides, and when she turns away, her hips swinging with each step in the opposite direction, I take in a sharp breath, my fists clenched tight.
Or could she be?
* * *
Charlotte
My heels click over the lacquered dance floor as I bolt through the sweaty bodies grinding around me.
That dead stare. Those deep dark eyes.
It can’t be...
I toss a quick glance over my shoulder and stare the guy down, hoping I’m far enough away for him to catch me. He’s standing in the exact same spot where I left him, his hard gaze focused in my direction. Tall, dark, and handsome. A tree I would have tried to climb in a heartbeat back across the pond. I swallow a gasp when his eyes meet mine.
We’re locked in a staring contest for seconds. I let my eyes rake over him once again, taking in every delicious inch of the man I’d just run from.
Instantly, I am sober.
Xander?
My mind trips back to our last night together. It hasn’t been that long, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since I last saw him. His dark eyes root me to the spot, but they’re so different – heavy, moody, and angry. He’s at least five inches taller, too. His bulging muscles tense, his jaw churning as his gaze tangles with mine. His hair is longer and it has that sexed-up look that makes my fingers twitch at my sides with longing, the crazy urge to rake them through the thick strands almost overpowering.
My throat goes dry, failing me. I want to choke out his name.
But how could it be him?
It can’t be.
Turning on my heels, I force myself to dart farther away.
If it was him, he wasn’t the same person.
He wasn’t my person.
That person died a long time ago, never to be a part of my life ever again, and he will never be resurrected if I have anything to say about it.
Chapter 5
Charlotte
One night at home before the beginning of senior year wasn’t enough. I’m not settled in. I’m not ready.
My alarm screams at me. Fuck.
My head is still pounding from the liquor and thundering music.
Shooting up in my bed, it hits me. A wave of memories floods in from the night before. Eyes boring into my soul. How could he have seen me and not done anything? How could that have been my long-lost friend?
The snoozing alarm chirps. Five more minutes.
I yank the covers over my face. Tears start to well up. I hate everything. I hate this nagging feeling. No one wants me to be back here. I don’t want to be back here. I don’t want to be back there either. I have no place to call my own. To call my home.
I’m gutted.
The shooting pain of being tossed aside a year ago is still fresh. All of my wounds are ripped open.
Those eyes. I would know them anywhere. They were seared into my mind like a brand on my heart.
>
“Miss, breakfast is served,” Moira’s loud voice cracks into my swimming mind.
“Be right down,” I call back with a groan.
I chug out of the water bottle I left out for myself the night before. Being hungover for the first day of school is not a good look at all. Fuck it. Who cares? It’s not like anyone in my household would notice anyway.
I pull the uniform from the Westminster School out from the back of my closet. I thumb the thick fabric of the dark blue blazer. It was odd to not put it on for the first day of school. The uniform that is replacing it is already waiting for me on the armchair in the corner of my room. Moira had pressed it and left it for me. I glance at the familiar Ridgeview Prep insignia that is glaring at me. I am not in the mood at all.
“What’s your name?” a sweet voice twitters from behind me as I stare at myself in the full-length mirror in my dorm room.
Whipping around, I see big, round brown eyes and a sweet, toothy smile.
“Charlotte. Are you my roommate?” I ask, trying to get the blue and red tie just right, failing miserably.
“Abby Westcoff,” she responds, a hint of a posh English accent coating her words. “Let me help you with that.”
“Thanks,” I mutter while her fingers fumble with the silky fabric.
“New to boarding schools, I gather.”
“Is it that obvious?”
She giggles with a nod. “I’ve been tying these stupid things for as long as I can remember. You’ll get used to it.”
“I’ve never had to wear uniforms like this before.”
“No. You’ll get used to being away from home. Come on. We don’t want to be late for our first class.”
Doing the math, I realize that Abby is already on her lunch break. Diving for my phone, I dial my former best friend’s number.
She answers after only one ring.
“About time you called,” she barks in the phone with a little hint of a teasing snicker lacing her words.
Puppet: Ridgeview Prep Book 1 Page 3
